


My Father's Son

by TrueIllusion



Series: Stories from the "Changed" Verse [5]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Coming of Age, Disability, F/F, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Graduation, Growing Up, M/M, POV Gus Peterson-Marcus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 21:58:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19237903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion
Summary: I really do have the best dad in the entire world.I know a lot of kids say that -- and they give their dads coffee mugs and t-shirts and dorky-looking ties that say it -- but I feel like for me, it really is true.My dad kicks more ass than any other dad I know, even though he hasn’t used his legs in almost thirteen years.***As Gus prepares for his high school graduation, he reflects back on his life so far, and his relationship with Brian.





	My Father's Son

I really do have the best dad in the entire world.

I know a lot of kids say that -- and they give their dads coffee mugs and t-shirts and dorky-looking ties that say it -- but I feel like for me, it really is true.

My dad kicks more ass than any other dad I know, even though he hasn’t used his legs in almost thirteen years.

I mean, who else’s dad can say that they were the mastermind behind the commercial everyone was talking about after last year's Super Bowl?

And seriously, who else’s dad went tandem skydiving on his 40th birthday? I’ll never forget that, even though I was only ten years old at the time, because I thought it was cool as shit. (Well, I couldn’t say it that way back then, and I’d still better not say it that way now if Mom is around, but you get the picture.) Mom said he was having a midlife crisis, and Mom and Justin both said he was an idiot for wanting to do it at all. I remember Mom going on and on about how he was going to kill himself, although it sounded to me like she was the one who was going to kill him for even considering it. But he did it, and said it was one of the most amazing things he’d ever experienced. Mostly, though, I think he just wanted to do something no one would have expected him to be able to do, just to prove he could.

Personally, I just love how Dad never lets anyone tell him that he can’t do something -- and if somebody tells him that, he does it anyway, sort of his way of saying, “Fuck you.”

I hope that's one of the traits I inherited from him.

People are always telling me that I look just like him when he was my age, and I see it too -- I saw the pictures in Uncle Mike's old bedroom at Grandma Debbie's, God rest her soul. I know we're a lot alike in other ways too, particularly in ways that drive Mom nuts, like my tendency to be a bit of a smartass. But there are plenty of ways we're different too, especially when it comes to love and relationships.

I've heard the stories, in spite of Mom's best efforts to protect me from them. I know what kind of guy my dad was back in the day. And there's no way you'd ever catch me fucking some random dude in the back room of a club, even though I've been 18 for like, almost a year now. I mean, I like dudes, but anonymous sex really isn't my thing. Besides, I like girls too, and most of them aren't really into that kind of stuff.

That's another way Dad and I are different -- he's about as gay as they come, even though he won't be prancing around in glitter anytime soon, or ever. Me, though, I'm a proud bisexual.

I think people get confused about what that means, or else they think _I'm_ confused. But I'm not confused -- I know what I like, and I like guys _and_ girls. Pretty equally, too.

I think Dad might have been a little disappointed at first that I wasn't gay, but he got over it. He just tells me not to ask him for advice on women because he has no fucking idea. And that's okay; I can deal with that.

At least my parents support me, though. A friend of mine who's gay got kicked out of his house and ended up living with his uncle. Justin told me the same sort of thing happened to him with his father, and it's how he ended up staying with Dad for a while and then living with Grandma Debbie. I can't imagine being rejected like that by your own family. I mean, my family is pretty nontraditional, but there's always been a lot of love to go around. I know I'm lucky, even if things aren't always easy.

High school has been a little bit rough, between my nontraditional family and my often-misunderstood sexual preferences, but it's almost over now. And that's kind of hard to believe to be honest. Sometimes it felt like this day was never going to come. But it has, finally, and I couldn't be more excited.

Now, with only two days to go before my high school graduation, I’m standing in my bedroom, holding a framed picture that Uncle Mike gave me for my sixteenth birthday. It’s a picture of me and my dad, taken when I was just a few hours old. When he gave it to me, Uncle Mike told me it was the moment when Dad first laid eyes on me. He teased Dad and told him it was actually the moment my dad fell in love with me, and Dad shoved him and told him to shut the fuck up, but I could tell by the shy grin on Dad’s face and the way his eyes were cast slightly downward, that Uncle Mike was telling the truth. Later that night, when Dad and I were alone, he told me he’d never forget that day, and that he had a copy of that same picture sitting on his desk at Kinnetik.

I wasn’t surprised that he waited until we were alone to tell me -- that’s just Dad. Everyone always says he’s never been good about talking about feelings, and especially not with other people. But I’ve always felt like he’s a little bit more honest with me, and I like that.

I’ve treasured that picture ever since the day Uncle Mike gave it to me. I tucked it carefully into my suitcase for the trip back to Toronto after that birthday party at Grandma Debbie’s, and I put it on my dresser the minute we got home. It’s still right there, where I see it every morning when I wake up -- a perpetual reminder of how much my dad loves me.

I mean, I know my moms love me too, a lot, but I just feel this connection with Dad that I don't with anybody else. I can't explain it; I just do.

I put the picture back on my dresser and look out the window one more time -- impatiently waiting for Dad and Justin’s rental car to pull up out front. They’re planning to spend a few days in Toronto to celebrate my graduation, and I’m really looking forward to it, because I never feel like I get to spend enough time with either of them. Two weeks in the summer always goes by way too fast, and so do all of the holidays and weekends. But that problem will soon be solved when I move to New York for college.

I think my moms wanted me to stay here in Canada, but I’ve had this pipe dream of going to New York for a long time. And, since I got a full scholarship to NYU for soccer -- another thing I probably owe to Dad’s genetics -- they couldn’t really say a whole lot about it.

I’m gonna live in the dorms, even though Dad said I could live with him and Justin if I wanted, because isn’t part of college being on your own? Plus, my scholarship includes housing, so why not?

I know Dad did the same thing, since he stayed in Pittsburgh and went to Carnegie Mellon, which is where he and Mom met. For him, though, I think it was just because he wanted to be away from his parents -- at least that’s what I’ve picked up over the years. No one really talks much about them. I know my grandfather died when I was a baby, and I’ve never even met my grandmother. Mom won’t tell me why -- she just says that’s between me and Dad. But the last time I asked him, Dad told me my grandmother doesn’t deserve to know me, and that was the end of the conversation because he didn’t want to talk about it. That was a few years ago, and I haven’t brought it up since. Sometimes I wonder what exactly went down between my dad and his parents, because whatever it was, it must have been bad. But no one ever talks about it, and I’m not asking again. I guess it doesn’t really matter. I have a family that loves me, and I’m happy with that.

It’s hard to believe that in a couple of months, I’ll be moving into the dorms, getting ready to start a new chapter in my life. I’m nervous, but I’m excited too. I can’t wait to see what’s next for me.

I’m still not sure what I want to do with my life, so I’m starting with general studies and I figure I’ll see what interests me the most. Besides, don’t a lot of kids end up changing their major a couple of times anyhow? This way, I’m saving myself the trouble.

I know I’ll miss my friends, since almost all of them are staying here for college, but I’ll get to see them at holidays and on breaks, and there’s always Snapchat, so I don’t think we’ll lose touch.

I’m _really_ going to miss Ryan, though.

He and I have kind of been dating for a few months, so I guess he’s my boyfriend, if you’re into labels. He goes to a different school, and we met through a friend of a friend. I mean, things aren’t really serious between us -- we’re just having fun and we like being with each other -- so that’s why we both agreed to not try to stay exclusive, especially not long distance, but to maybe just be friends and see what happens later. I’ll still miss seeing him almost every day, though, when he goes off to Vancouver and I go to New York.

Ryan has this awesome dirty blond hair that just effortlessly styles itself -- like he looks sexy from the minute he gets out of bed, lucky bastard -- and these blue eyes that feel like they can see straight into your soul. And don’t get me started on his ass.

The first time I brought him home, I remember Moms both kind of raising an eyebrow and looking like they thought something was funny, only they wouldn’t tell me what. Then I overheard them later after we all went to bed, talking about how much he looked like Justin and Mama Mel saying, “It must be hereditary,” and laughing. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I guess he does kind of look like Justin. There’s nothing wrong with that though, right?

I’m holding a snapshot one of his friends took of the two of us at his high school’s prom when I see a car pull up to the curb in front of our house, and I can see Dad in the passenger seat. Quickly, I put the picture back down on my desk and run down the stairs, my long legs making it easy to take them two at a time, and it’s all I can do to wait for Dad to get out of the car so I can hug him. I haven’t seen him since January, when we were all in Pittsburgh for Grandma Debbie’s funeral, and when I saw him then, he was kind of… out of it. I guess I hadn’t realized just how special she was to him, and I kinda felt bad for not realizing that. I was glad I got to see him then, but I’ve kind of been missing him the last few months.

Dad’s pretty quick at doing everything he needs to do to get out of the car, so it’s only a minute or two before we’re hugging and he’s telling me how proud he is of me, speaking softly into my ear -- words intended just for me.

“You’re getting so tall,” he says, and I want to roll my eyes because literally everybody tells me that. I’m about the same height as Dad though, so I’m not sure why people are so surprised. But I smile instead of rolling my eyes, because really, it’s just another way he and I are alike, so I shouldn’t complain about that.

I ask him if he’s okay because is voice is hoarse and he doesn’t quite sound like himself, but he says he’s fine, just getting over a cold. I see Justin roll his eyes as he unloads their suitcases from the trunk of the car, as if there’s more to this story that Dad isn’t telling me, and I’m sure there is, because if there one thing Dad doesn’t like to show, it’s weakness. Not that being sick makes you weak -- it just makes you human -- but Dad really doesn’t like to be anything but “fine.” Justin teases him about that all the time. I’m glad he’s feeling better though, regardless of whatever happened in the meantime, because it means he’s able to be here for my graduation.

I follow him up the ramp at the front of our house that Mom had built several years ago when Dad was coming to Toronto more often. I always love it when he comes to visit, although in the past year or two, it hasn’t been as often as it once was. I know he’s been busy though, what with officially launching a second location for Kinnetik in New York and all. So I miss him, but I get it. And like I said before, it won’t matter for much longer, because I’ll be in New York too.

I remember when Dad first moved to New York, and how excited I was because there were so many things I wanted to see there that I’d heard about in school and that he and Justin had told me about -- like the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. But I remember Mom telling me not to get carried away, because Dad was “dealing with a lot right now.” And even at six years old, I knew what she was talking about -- Dad’s accident.

Mom gave me this big speech the first time we went to Pittsburgh after the accident, telling me all about how Dad was going to be different than I remembered him -- that he used a wheelchair now. I think she was afraid I’d be scared, but I wasn’t. Dad made it fun, because he let me play around with his chair when he wasn’t in it, and to be honest, I really just thought it was kind of cool. My dad was different from everyone else’s dad, sure, but wasn’t he already different before?

What’s so bad about being different? I think being the same is boring.

There are a lot of things I don’t understand about how other people see my dad now, even the people who have known him for a long time, like Mom. I was five when he got hurt, so I don’t remember a ton from before, but I do remember some. And with that, plus what I’ve been told he’s always been like, I really don’t think he’s all that different. He still gets exactly what he wants, no matter what he has to do to get it, and he’s still not afraid to tell people what he thinks. He works hard, but he still has time for Justin, and for me. I mean, I know he’s not out picking up tricks, but would he really be doing that anyway now that he’s almost fifty?

So he doesn’t walk -- who the hell cares about that? He’s still my Dad. He’s still a fucking _person_. Not an object to be stared at, or else overlooked like he’s not even there.

And that’s the part I really don’t get -- why people treat people with disabilities so differently sometimes, or why people get so uncomfortable. I mean, they’re just people. What’s the big deal?

When Mama Mel and Jenny Rebecca get back from the store with the metric ton of food Mom instructed them to buy that there’s no way the six of us will ever come close to eating over the next few days, we go to the waterfront for dinner. It’s not something we do very often -- mostly just when Dad and Justin are visiting -- but it’s fun, and the view is great. Justin’s always taking pictures for future paintings, and Dad’s always teasing him that he needs to finish the ones he’s already started first. Justin laughs and says he’s a little bit busy, what with his full-time job and all, plus his art. Mom tells him that he should focus on his art more, but Justin shrugs and says he really loves his teaching job, and he doesn’t think he wants to give it up just yet.

We all spend the rest of the evening in our living room, just hanging out together as a family, and it really gets me thinking that I’m gonna miss my moms and my sister too, even though all three of them annoy me sometimes. It’s hard being the only guy in the house. Soon, though, I’ll have a roommate and I’ll be living on an all-male floor of a dorm, so it’s kind of like going from one environment to the exact opposite, but I’m looking forward to it. I’m just hoping it won’t be awkward once my roommate finds out I’m bi, because I’ve seen how straight guys can get paranoid sometimes, thinking that you’re coming onto them or some shit. I just want to ask them, are you sexually attracted to every girl you see? No? Okay, then. And if you’re straight, I’m not gonna like, try to convert you or anything. I’m still looking forward to living in the dorm though, even if there’s a potential for an awkward moment or two.

Sometimes it’s all I can do to contain my excitement, but I know my moms are sad that I’m leaving, so I try to not let too much of it show when I’m with them. I don’t want them to think I don’t love them; I do. I’m just growing up, and I’m ready to leave the nest, so to speak. Spread my own wings and fly, and all that.

Dad and Justin leave to go back to their hotel just as the sun is starting to set, and I miss them before they’ve even pulled away, but I know I’ll see them again tomorrow, because they’re taking me out for a “guys day” as Justin called it -- brunch and whatever else we decide we want to do. I love it when the three of us just go out with no real plan, stopping for whatever looks or sounds interesting. Really, I just like spending time with the two of them -- I don’t care what we do, as long as we’re together.

This time, Ryan is meeting us for brunch, before he has to go do something with his own family later in the afternoon. I’m excited for Dad and Justin to meet him, because I like him a lot. Sometimes I wonder how I’m going to deal with being thousands of miles away from him, and only seeing him at Christmas or summer break, even though we’ve decided to just be friends when it comes time to go our separate ways in the fall. For right now, though, we’re friends with benefits, I guess -- at least, whenever we can get an hour or two to ourselves with no parents or sisters around, which isn’t very often.

Ryan’s the first guy I’ve ever had actual sex with -- like, not just hand jobs or sucking each other off, not that I’ve done a ton of that either. I haven’t told anyone else that we’ve been having sex, because I know my moms would freak out, even though we’re safe and we always use a condom just like Grandma Debbie used to say. But I’m growing up, and that’s part of it. We're still just having fun through -- there's no big attachment there, and that's okay. 

Maybe that's another way I'm a little like Dad, at least, from what I've heard.

Dad and Justin show up mid-morning, and they both exchange a look that I’m not sure how to interpret as soon as I come down the stairs -- Dad’s seems to say, “I told you so,” while Justin’s says, “So what?” I find out what it’s about, though, when we’re on our way to the restaurant for brunch and Dad says he’s taking me shopping, because “no son of mine is going to walk around Manhattan dressed like that.”

I can see Justin roll his eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Don’t pay attention to him,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with wearing what you like.”

I look down at my t-shirt and jeans, and I suddenly realize how much my everyday “uniform” of a t-shirt and a pair of jeans or cargo pants looks a hell of a lot like what Justin wears if he’s not going to work.

“He’s going to college now. He’s going to be meeting some important people,” Dad says, sounding like he thinks he’s being perfectly reasonable and Justin is being ridiculous. “He needs to look good.”

Justin sighs, and he and I both know at that point that there’s no talking Dad out of what he’s already set his mind to, even though we don’t say it. I’ll go along with it though -- maybe it won’t be so bad. I mean, I definitely don’t have anything against being like Dad. I’m just not sure this particular aspect of him is “me.”

When we get to the restaurant, Ryan’s already there, waiting for us at the door, and I greet him with a hug and a kiss on the lips. I see the proud smile on Dad’s face as I introduce them, but I also see the hint of amusement in his eyes, probably as he’s realizing how much Ryan looks like Justin. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Instead, he comments on how Ryan is dressed -- today, it’s tight-fitting jeans, a graphic tee that I know he didn’t buy at a rock concert, and a khaki cargo jacket -- and how I should try to look more like him. I don’t think the way we dress is really _that_ different, but I guess Ryan does look a lot more put-together than I do. And he does have on a nice pair of canvas sneakers, instead of an old pair of running shoes. So maybe Dad’s right, but I still don’t think there’s anything wrong with being comfortable. (Besides, I’m pretty sure Dad thinks Justin’s sexy, and not just with his clothes off. So there’s that.)

We talk college plans over french toast, eggs, fruit, and coffee, and about how excited Ryan and I are to be at this point in our lives. Sort of on the edge of adulthood, I guess. Well, we’re technically adults already, since we’re both 18, but you know what I mean. Graduation from high school is kind of the point where you officially go from being a kid to being an adult, I think. And I’m so ready.

As we part ways after breakfast, Ryan kisses me again, this time longer and harder and with some tongue, and I can feel his hand on my ass and his semi-erect penis pressing against my hip as he holds me close after our lips part. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad and Justin share a knowing look, and I’m sure we just gave ourselves away that we’re doing a little more than just going on dates. I just hope I can trust them to keep it between us. I think I can.

In the car, though, on the way to the ritzy mall that only Dad ever takes me to, there’s still an awkward silence, until Dad breaks it with an equally awkward, “So… I don’t need to know anything else, but I need to know this. Are you guys being safe?”

I can feel my face getting warm as it flushes from embarrassment because I definitely do not want to be having this conversation with Dad, but I answer anyway. “Yeah, I promise. We’re being careful.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied, but doesn’t say anything else. Justin, thankfully, changes the subject, and asks me about my photography class, which I’m more than happy to talk about instead. Photography has kind of become a love of mine over the last few years -- I guess it’s a piece of me that came from Mom. I’ve never been into drawing or painting, but I love taking what’s in front of me and finding a way to make it even better through creative framing and composition. Maybe I’ll do something with it someday, or maybe I’ll just keep dabbling -- who knows?

Dad ends up spending way more money on clothes for me than I think my moms or I have spent in the last four years, but I can see how happy it makes him to take me shopping and buy me things, so I go along with it. It’s one way he shows me he loves me -- not that he doesn’t show me in other ways, because he does, but I know that buying extravagant things for people he loves and appreciates is definitely a Brian Kinney signature move.

By the same token, when Dad gives me my graduation gift later that evening, it turns out to be two plane tickets -- one with my name on it, and one with his. He wants to take me to Europe: London, Paris, and Milan. Mom tries to protest, and I can hear her later in the kitchen with Dad, talking to him in a low voice and telling him it’s “too much.”

But I hear him say, “I can afford it. It’s fine. And why would you want to deny our son the ability to use all that French he learned in school?” I don’t even need to see Dad to know he’s got that twinkle in his eye that he gets when he’s being a total smartass, because I can hear it in his voice.

“He can use French right here in Canada,” Mom says, and I feel like I can hear her rolling her eyes. “You can take him to Montreal. We can’t compete with a gift like that.”

“Who said it’s a competition? Like I said, I can afford it. It’s not a big deal. And I want to take him to see the world. Just the two of us.” Dad’s voice gets softer on the last line, and I feel like I know what expression he has on his face now too -- it’s that shy one that not many people get to see, because it gives too much away about who Dad really is and what he cares about, compared to the persona he wants to project all the time.

Mom doesn’t say anything else, but I know she’s probably giving him a sympathetic smile, because she’s realized now that Dad just wants to spend time with me, and this trip is a way for him to do that.

My friend Cole comes over later that night, just to hang out. Dad and Justin have met him before, because we’ve been friends for ages -- since like, second grade. I’m going to miss him a lot too, but he’s staying here in Toronto, and it’s just a short flight home for breaks. I told him he’ll have to come visit me in New York sometime too, so I can show him the sights.

Anyway, everybody always loves Cole, because he’s so funny. He’ll find a way to make you laugh, no matter what. And I need that sometimes when I get dragged down into the bullshit of people talking bad about my family.

I know my moms moved us up here after a terrorist attack on Liberty Avenue, because they didn’t feel like Pittsburgh was a safe place to raise their family, what with all of the discrimination and whatnot that was written into the laws back then and kind of still is down there in America. But there’s discrimination up here too, and people treating us differently because our family has two moms. I think it’s total bullshit.

I’ve even heard people saying that Moms shouldn’t even have J.R. and I -- that it’s not fair to us kids to be raised in “such an environment.” But who the fuck are they to judge? Our moms love us more than anything in this world. Isn’t that one of the most important things kids need? They feed us and clothe us and take us to school every day, and have raised us to become upstanding citizens. I figure they’re doing a pretty good job. Why does it matter if the heads of our household are both women?

I swear, people are so closed minded sometimes. Just because something doesn’t exactly fit their narrow little worldview, they have to turn it into something awful. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between someone who’s just ignorant, who could benefit from a little education, and someone you’d just be wasting your time on. Most of the time now, I just wind up ignoring them, because I’ve had more than a few moments when I’ve questioned why I spent the mental energy trying to educate someone when they weren’t going to listen anyway. Ignoring them is self-preservation, I guess. Sometimes I feel bad for just letting it go without objecting, but I don’t know what else to do.

Mama Mel tells me it’s not my job to educate everyone -- I shouldn’t feel like I _have_ to do it. That it’s not an obligation, and I should only do it if I really want to. And I know she’s right. But it still irks me when people say ignorant shit.

I hope we won’t encounter any of that tomorrow at graduation, but I know that’s probably too much to ask for, since everybody will be there with their families, and I’m not ashamed of my two moms and two dads, not at all, so don’t get me wrong, but I just really can’t stand all of those sidelong glances and the whispers and the pointing, like we’re fucking zoo animals or something. It’s my graduation day; I don’t want it to be ruined by people acting like assholes or like they’ve never seen two men or two women who love each other before.

I go to bed thinking about everything tomorrow will bring -- getting the piece of paper that I’ve worked the last twelve years to earn, going from grade school to being a college freshman, and seeing a lot of people for the last time, because it’s just not realistic to think I’ll keep in touch with 300 people after graduation. In a lot of ways, tomorrow is all about moving on. Moving forward. Taking a new turn on the road of life without really knowing where it might lead.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m thinking about how I can't believe the day is finally here -- how it doesn't feel real. But it is. I’m graduating from high school.

I put on my brand new suit that Dad bought me yesterday. (It’s amazing how having money means you can get something tailored on the spot, not that it needed much. I guess what Dad says about how you can get anything you want, anywhere, as long as you’re willing to pay for it, really is true.) Somehow, I look even more like him with that suit on. And I feel like him too -- at least, how I perceive him. Like he’s ready to take on the world, and anybody who stands in his way can go fuck themselves.

Jenny Rebecca is somehow surprisingly not annoying today -- thank god. Of course, she is getting ready to go into grade nine herself, so maybe she’s growing up too. She does kind of look grown up in her dress and the heels she begged Mama Mel to let her buy with her allowance. I know people keep telling me that one day she and I will appreciate each other a lot more than we do now, and usually I think that’s a load of crap, but now that I’m thinking about not seeing her for months, and the fact that I actually _will_ miss her, I’m wondering if that day might not be too far off.

We meet Dad and Justin over at the school, where everyone is milling around the sidewalks and the grassy areas, talking and hugging and laughing and reminiscing and taking pictures with their families. Dad and Justin are both in suits, which isn’t surprising at all for Dad, but for Justin, it still seems strange. He only wears suits for his art show openings, and then, only if the dress code calls for it. If he can get away with something more casual, he’ll do it. So I’m glad he thinks I’m worth getting dressed up for. Dad grabs Justin’s hand and pulls him down for a kiss, and I hear the conversation next to us stop as they all turn to gawk at Dad and Justin. Like I said, I knew it was too much to ask for that there not be any homophobic bullshit to deal with today.

Mom is making us all pose for a million different pictures with me in my cap and gown when Cole comes running up behind me and jumps on my back -- his version of photobombing. He slides down until his feet are back on the ground, then stands next to me, grinning. I’m wondering what he’s grinning about -- besides the fact that we’re about to blow this popsicle stand, or whatever Mom says they used to say back in the stone age -- when he holds up his left arm and I see exactly what has him so happy.

It’s weird seeing Cole with two hands, since he was born with only about three-quarters of his left arm. Yeah, I probably forgot to mention that earlier, because it’s really not a big deal. It’s just Cole. So anyway, I’m used to him having one hand and a hook, or actually most of the time just doing everything with his residual limb because he’s always hated his prosthetic. But earlier this year, he finally got approved for a more advanced one, including an artificial hand that would actually respond to his muscle movement and work more like his other hand. I knew he’d been hoping to have it and learn how to use it before graduation, but I didn’t know it had actually happened.

“That’s fucking awesome, man,” I say, ignoring the look I get from Mom for using the F-word. This is a time that calls for the F-word, because just plain “awesome” isn’t enough. Not that it really matters to me if Cole has a hand or not, because he’s still the same person either way, but I know he really wanted to be able to accept his diploma with it, so I’m happy he got what he wanted.

The next thing I know, Dad is checking it out, and he and Cole are practically talking shop -- not that Dad knows a ton about prosthetics, but he’s learning, now that he’s got this huge investment in a company that focuses entirely on adaptive robotics. I wish that was something I was interested in going into, because it’s really fucking cool, but engineering isn’t really my thing. Neither is advertising. And I’ve tried graphic arts, but I’m just not great at it -- I like taking pictures a whole lot better. So I probably won’t end up going to work for Dad at Kinnetik, unless he comes up with some position especially for me, which I don’t want him to do. I don’t want to get anything through nepotism -- I want to earn everything myself, just like Dad did.

Mom keeps taking pictures of me with friends and teachers and in front of various parts of the school building, and I’m wondering what the heck she plans to do with all of these, until it’s finally time to head inside and start lining up for the ceremony. Cole and I get to sit next to each other -- a perk of having the last names Marcus-Peterson and Martin, and a perk that we’ve been enjoying to the fullest for the past ten years in our shared classes.

It’s a long-ass ceremony, with a shit-ton of pomp and circumstance and whole lot of bullshit speeches that I could give a shit less about, but, just like I figured he would, Cole helps pass the time a whole lot faster because we end up spending a lot of it whispering to each other about the way we feel the speeches _should_ go, or which teachers should consider giving their hairstyles back to 1986 or 1992 or wherever the hell they came from.

Finally, after what feels like forever, we get to the actual graduation -- walking across the stage to get our diplomas. We hoot and holler for our soccer teammates as they cross the stage, and it’s sort of fun to see how every kid seems to have their own little personal cheering section in the gym. When it’s our row’s turn to line up in the aisle to head toward the stage, I look up toward the mezzanine, where my own family is, in the accessible row of seating at the very top of the first section of bleachers. I can see Dad and Justin holding hands, and I’m pretty sure Justin winks at me when he catches my eye. Mom and Mama Mel are both grinning from ear to ear, and J.R. gives me a little wave. Mom starts snapping pictures as soon as she realizes I’m looking at her, and I wonder how many memory cards she’s going to fill up today.

Cole’s parents and sister are sitting on the other side of the gym, and I wave at them too. They look just as proud as all four of my parents do, and his mom blows each of us a kiss as we take a few more steps toward the stage. His mom is pretty much like my third mom, and I’m gonna miss her too.

A couple of minutes later, I’m at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the stage, and Elizabeth MacDonald is accepting her diploma, then I hear my name called: Gus Abraham Marcus-Peterson. Instantly, my personal cheering section lights up with excitement -- that shrill, annoying-as-fuck whistle J.R. learned how to do last summer, and all four of my parents (plus my two “adopted” ones on the other side of the gym) are clapping and shouting my name as I shake the hand of the principal and finally wrap my fingers around the leather cover that contains my diploma. It sort of feels like I’m punching my ticket to adulthood as I smile for the picture from the official photographer and walk toward the other side of the stage. Cole’s name is called the second I hit the bottom of the stairs, and I turn around just in time to see him accepting his diploma with his new hand, exactly the way he’d been hoping to. I flash him a smile and linger not too far from the stage as he poses for his picture, then waves to his family, and finishes his own trip across the stage and down the stairs to where I’m standing. We hug, and I’m sure there are more than a few people who think we’re together, because of whatever stupid social norm it is that says guys don’t hug each other in public, but I don’t give a shit what they think. I just hope Mom got a picture, because I want to frame it and put it on my desk in my dorm room, right next to the picture of Dad and me when I was a baby.

We spend the rest of the ceremony occasionally opening up the leather covers and looking at our diplomas, and I keep thinking it’s so weird to see my name on it -- to think that I’m a high school graduate. But I am. I did it, and now I’m ready to move on to what’s next.

When the ceremony finally concludes, with even more speeches and the choir singing our alma mater as we transfer our tassels from one side of our caps to the other then throw them up in the air, Cole and I go outside to meet our families and find them all together under a dogwood tree in full bloom. Somehow Mom missed that tree in her marathon photo session earlier, so I’m sure she’ll be wanting approximately a million more pictures of all of us in front of it.

We’ve all been standing there talking for a few minutes -- showing off our diplomas and posing for more pictures, as predicted -- when one of my favorite teachers, Mrs. Howell, comes up to congratulate Cole and me. She’s never met Dad and Justin before, so I’m excited to introduce them, but my excitement is quickly replaced with frustration when she takes one look at Dad and immediately starts stuttering and stumbling over her words.

I mean, yeah, I don’t go around telling the entire world, “Hey, my dad uses a wheelchair,” because it doesn’t fucking matter -- it’s not relevant most of the time. But I would have expected better of her.

Dad’s used to it, I know, but it still pisses me the fuck off when she gives him that sympathetic smile and says, “Oh, I didn’t know,” but not in a tone that’s curious or casual. No, it’s a tone that makes it sound like it’s just the most tragic thing in the goddamned world that Dad can’t walk, and it’s fucking _not_ , and I really want to say something about it, but I know what Dad always says: “I’ll handle it.” And he does. He smiles and shakes her hand and says it’s nice to meet her, and otherwise shows her that he’s just another normal dad, which he _is_.

I can’t stand it when people judge him just by looking at him, just like I can’t stand it when people judge our family. It’s like, there’s so much more to all of us than meets the eye, and I think that goes for all of humanity. You can’t judge a book by its cover. I know that’s a cliche, but it’s true. We all have so much more to us inside, and all of our life experiences add up to make us into the people we become. And that’s what we all are -- just people, with different things that make us unique.

I don't think my dad turned into a different person after his accident, or that it was just the worst thing that could have happened to him, but I do see how it's shaped who he is, because it's a part of him. Just like how growing up with two moms and two dads has shaped who I am. I see how the most obvious thing that makes my dad different from other dads isn’t a limitation at all; it’s made him strong. But it’s just one piece of the puzzle. Just like being gay or being tall or having brown hair and hazel eyes. All of those things add up to make my Dad, but that doesn’t mean they’re the whole of the equation. I see how some of those things drive him to try harder and do better, and the perspective they give him on life. I see how he takes the bullshit people give him and turns it into power. And I see how he appreciates what he has -- his life, his family, and his ability to make an impact on the world. 

Dad’s accident doesn’t define him. Neither does the fact that he’s gay, or that he has a college degree and owns a successful business. Those things are all just parts of him -- parts of his lived experience. The puzzle pieces that made him into the man he is today -- the driven, honest, independent, strong, successful, loving man I'm proud to call my dad.

And, as I say goodbye to my classmates and teachers and head home with my family on my graduation day, ready to begin the next chapter in my life, I’m thinking that’s exactly the sort of man I hope to become.

After all, I am my father’s son.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to SandiD and PrettyTheWorld for reading along with me as I write and helping me make the story the best it could be. <3


End file.
